


Every Little Thing She Does...

by Lumarmalade



Category: Frankie (TV 2013)
Genre: F/F, Ian and Paula happened a while ago and is all over, also I've messed with the timeline a bit, but the stalker thing has only recently started, love spell AU, of course they will, will they won't they
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-20
Updated: 2017-04-20
Packaged: 2018-10-21 10:51:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10683789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lumarmalade/pseuds/Lumarmalade
Summary: Everybody Frankie knows is suddenly madly in love with her. Oddly, however, Zoe Evans' behaviour hasn't changed one jot...HOW SUSPICIOUS OMG I WONDER HOW THIS IS GOING TO END?!?!





	Every Little Thing She Does...

Frankie was half-humming, half-singing the chorus of “Somebody to Love” when she bustled into the office for a quick bite to eat and a hot drink. The morning had been stressful – she had just left the house of an elderly man with dementia, and was looking forward to an upsetting afternoon with old Mrs Wicker, who was very much on her last legs. Not only that, she would also have to make time for a meeting with Dr Evans, which meant her hackles were already beginning to raise in preparation.

“I’m dying for a good cuppa and a cake,” she called out to nobody in particular. As usual, her colleagues feigned deafness and continued to rattle away at their keyboards, suddenly much more engaged with the reports they had been working on.  
“Suppose I'll get my own then,” she grumbled, depositing her bag and coat at her desk and trudging into the kitchen.

“Ooh I’d love a brew, if you're putting the kettle on!” came Andy’s predictable response. Matt and Karen both cheered their consensus. Only Paula remained quiet, things between herself and Frankie having remained tense even after they had made up about Ian. Frankie had said there were more important things to worry about than idiotic men, but Paula had found it hard to imagine what they were.

“You’ve got that meeting with Dr Evans soon, yes?” prompted Andy, dawdling into the kitchen and leaning against a counter, watching Frankie make drinks for everybody. 

“Oh no, don’t remind me! I was having such a good moment imagining it was time to go home,” Frankie whined.

 

“Don't worry about it. She knows you're a good nurse, you just have different ways of seeing certain things.”

 

“Yeah, like she sees every patient as a problem, and I see them as actual people?” Frankie knew she was being harsh, but there was something about Zoe Evans that made her forget her usually lighthearted nature. They had been clashing over patients and arguing over care plans for as long as they had been working together, and Frankie couldn't resist getting a few jabs in every time the opportunity arose.

“Alright you lazy sods, tea and coffee are in the kitchen, you can grab them yourselves if you can figure out how to extract your bums from your chairs,” she called into the main office, grabbing a bagel from the fridge and stuffing a large portion into her mouth.

“Hey! That was my lunch!” Andy protested as Frankie hurried out, snatching up her bag and coat on the way.

“Smnnhhhh!” Frankie’s muffled apology flew back through the door and Andy was left to find something else to eat.  
**

“Ah, Nurse Maddox, only a couple of minutes late this time, I see. Something of a miracle,” Zoe sniffed, eyes flitting jerkily between Frankie, the floor, her notes. 

“Yes, sorry Zoe! You know what it’s like, time flies.” replied Frankie, in the cheeriest voice she could manage. It wasn't that she disliked Zoe, exactly. They had different opinions about certain professional things, but that was always the case in this type of job. But Dr Evans – it was almost like she rejected Frankie’s ideas on principle, because they came from Frankie. And no matter how hard Frankie tried to make friends, Zoe only ever presented this hard exterior. Maybe one day, Frankie would find out what was underneath all of that ice. 

If only.

“So,” Zoe began, shuffling a pile of papers and files. “Mr Ramirez? Did he show up for his MRI?”

**

Fifteen minutes later, Frankie emerged from Dr Evans’ office, hot under the collar and fuming.

One of these days she would really let Zoe Evans know what she thought of her. On the day she didn't still need to have a job.

She just couldn't understand why it was so difficult to get Mr Ramirez the assistance he needed – and Zoe didn't even seem willing to try.

“Incompetent, negligent, stuck-up cow,” she muttered to herself, heading back to her car. She only had one more patient to see this afternoon, and she was already wondering what to cook for dinner.

**

Mrs Wicker lived with two other elderly ladies in a bungalow that was slightly off the beaten track. It was a little run-down; Frankie was always concerned it wouldn't be warm enough in such an old, crumbling house, but the three women seemed happy enough. 

The other two were heading out as Frankie arrived, but they stopped in the door on the way out.

“I'm afraid this might be the last you'll see of her, dear,” whispered Mrs Watchetts.

“We’re on our way to get the priest, only hoping she can hold on until we get back,” Mrs Wills murmured, opening an umbrella to shield herself from the drizzle outside. Frankie patted her arm in a hopefully comforting gesture, then made her way down the dingy corridor to find her patient.

“Ah, Mrs Wicker, I've been looking forward to seeing you all day long!” she smiled, walking into a room stuffed to the brim with flowers.

“I think everybody thinks I've already popped my clogs!” croaked Mrs Wicker, propping herself up on her pillows to give Frankie a rather toothless grin. “All these flowers, I could open a florist!”

“Oh well, we’ll just have to save that for when you're feeling a little better, won’t we?” 

“Bless you dear, I know full well I'm not getting any better.” She paused to cough; a guttural scrape which brought Frankie closer, concerned, stroking her arm at a loss for any real help to give.

“I bet,” Mrs Wicker continued scratchily, once she had regained the use of her windpipe, “that everybody you know must be in love with you, eh? Loveliest person I ever met, you are.”

Frankie laughed softly, blushing, trying not to be overcome with sadness at the poor woman’s pain and her own helplessness.

“Oh, how you flatter me Mrs Wicker.” The old lady appeared to sigh, but offered no response.  
“Mrs Wicker?” She felt for a pulse, but there was no use. Mrs Wicker had gone.

She waited for Mrs Watchetts and Mrs Wills to return with the priest, then quickly made her excuses and slipped away, hoping she wouldn’t be too late for her now redundant meeting with Angie.

 

**

Angie was already in her office when Frankie got back, nursing a cup of coffee while waiting for the meeting they had scheduled for this afternoon. She looked up when Frankie called her name, then promptly dropped the remaining half of a rich tea biscuit in her coffee, in her rush to wave hello.

“Hey Ange, I'm not going to need that palliative care review for Mrs Wicker. She passed away this afternoon.” Frankie didn't notice Angie’s eyes glazing over as she shrugged off her coat and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

“Oh that’s… that’s really sad Frankie, are you feeling ok?” Angie moved from her desk to sit on the chair beside Frankie, and patted her shoulder reassuringly, comfortingly. 

“Yeah, absolutely. Always fine, me!” Frankie replied, smiling widely to mask the dull ache which overcame her every time she lost a patient.

“How about I take you to dinner after work? Help you forget all about it,” Angie offered. Her hand was no longer on Frankie’s shoulder, but had begun a soft caress of her upper arm which was slightly beyond the usual tactility of their friendship. Her eyes seemed to be attempting to meet Frankie’s, but kept losing their nerve and wandering the room instead.

“Angie are you ok? What’s all this about?” Frankie had finally realised that something was going on.

“Nothing, I just…” Angie faltered. “Nothing. It's fine. I just thought we could… don't worry about it.” Her cheeks had flushed and she was now at the stage of looking for an exit. Frankie failed to formulate a response in time to fill the empty, awkward silence, before Angie found herself a way out and excused herself to a meeting with Doctor Evans, for which she suddenly and uncharacteristically wanted to arrive early.

“Ok well I guess I'll just get back to work then,” Frankie called after her quickly retreating form. “Wonder what that was all about,” she remarked, mostly to herself, before wandering back to the district nurses’ offices. 

**

When she arrived, she almost bumped into Andy, who had been standing in the doorway apparently waiting for her.  
“Frankie, I’m so glad I found you here,” he said, his voice softer than usual and his eyes full of some intense fire. 

“OK you’re going to need to tell me what’s going on - why was Angie just acting so strangely with me? Have you talked to her lately?”

Andy brushed off the question; he had something far more important to say.

“Never mind that – look: I’ve been thinking about this stalker situation all day and I’m worried for you Franks. These messages you’ve been getting, I don’t think you’re safe in your house alone.” 

He was still speaking softly, as though the conversation was private; intimate. None of the other nurses were actually in the office, which made this seem somewhat unnecessary. Frankie ignored this oddity and nodded for him to continue, slightly uncomfortable with the subject but willing to hear if Andy had a solution.

“I think you should move in with me,” he revealed excitedly. “I know my place is pretty small, but you and I get on so well, I’m sure we wouldn't get in each other's way.”

“I don’t know Andy, I wouldn’t want to impose…” Frankie mumbled.

“Of course not, I’d love to have you -” Andy began, then faltered, realising what he was saying. He started picking at the edge of his ID badge, and all of a sudden seemed unable to look directly at Frankie. 

“I’d love to have you there,” he resumed, speaking more slowly this time, “because I… I love you, Franks.”

Frankie stared. Andy was such a great mate, a buddy, a shoulder to cry on when Ian had slept with Paula and broken her heart – but he had never been anything more than that. Now suddenly he was in love, asking her to move in with him? It didn’t feel right, and it definitely wasn’t right for her.

“Andy, listen,” she began, her soothing tone foreshadowing the uncomfortable necessity of breaking Andy’s heart. “I don’t think it would be a good idea for me to move in with you, if that’s how you feel. It might become complicated, and I just don’t need that right now. You’ll always be one of my best mates, and you mean so much to me, always will, but I can’t get my head around this at the moment.”

As she spoke she had slowly gathered up her bag and coat, now she patted Andy gently on the shoulder and kissed the top of his head fondly, before making a quick exit. She didn’t wait to find out Andy’s response. Hopefully tomorrow morning he’d have forgotten all about it.

**

When she returned to the office shortly before leaving for home, Frankie found not one but three separate cups of tea and coffee scattered on her desk, at varying temperatures based presumably on how long they had been sitting there. One of the drinks was accompanied by a chocolate hobnob, and another was next to a plate holding a cupcake. There was a post-it note next to this one, marked only with the letter M and a doodled love heart.

“Guys, what’s going on here?” she enquired, and very shortly afterward wished she hadn’t. 

Within a minute Karen and Matt were having an ungainly tussle and Paula was tugging on Frankie’s sleeve and softly crying. Mary, meanwhile, was loudly explaining why her kind gesture was actually The Kindest, because she actually left a note. Frankie didn’t have the energy to explain that actually there were two people in the office with the first initial ‘M,’ and was starting to feel quite comprehensively creeped out by Paula’s sobbing vows of eternal devotion. 

She gently extracted herself from Paula’s grasp and made a run for the door, grabbing her bag and coat on the way out.

Frankie had never had trouble getting people to like her. In fact, the only person she could think of who didn’t like her was Zoe Evans. With most people, they were usually won over by her optimism and can-do attitude within minutes of meeting her. 

Nonetheless, she had never experienced anything quite to this extreme before. 

During the course of the day, Angie, Andy, Karen, Matt, Paula and even Mary had either asked her on a date or professed their love for her, with no apparent inducement. 

Maybe it was a joke, but jokes only went so far, and she couldn’t imagine Paula or Mary doing any of that for a prank. For one thing, neither of them were very good actors. 

“Come on Kenneth, give me a sign. Tell me, what is going on?” Frankie spoke to the radio in her car, expectantly waiting for the next song as though the radio announcer was somehow going to hear her and respond accordingly.

“And here’s one for my favourite listener,” Ken Bruce joked through the speakers, “You know who you are…”

Annie Lennox’s ‘I Put A Spell On You’ sounded its first plink-plonk of piano notes as Ken’s voice trailed away and Frankie gasped suddenly, braking and pulling in to the side of the road as it dawned on her what was happening. She thought back to her dying patient from earlier in the afternoon, before any of the strange behaviour. Mrs Wicker. What was it that she had said? Frankie couldn’t figure out if she was imagining it, filling in the blanks to fit the narrative, trying to make it all make sense. 

But –

“Everybody you know must be in love with you”

Frankie had laughed it off at the time, thought it was just a sweet compliment from an ailing mind. Then Mrs Wicker had died and she had forgotten all about it. Come to think of it, that must have been the last thing she had said. Last words. 

“Just my luck - couldn’t she have said ‘everybody you know must give you a hundred pounds?’” Frankie said, to nobody in particular. She dropped her head onto the steering wheel, only lifting it again when the horn began to blare under the pressure. Holding up a hand to apologise to a pedestrian on the pavement who had just jumped out of her skin, she put the car back into gear and resumed her drive home.

 

**

Frankie was just congratulating herself on finally getting home, away from the bizarre situation at work, when she spotted a large lump on her doorstep. Moving closer, she determined that the lump was in fact Ian, and that Ian was holding a large bouquet of roses and holding his other arm behind his back.

“Ian listen, I’ve had about all I can handle today. I just want to go inside, pop on the telly and eat a whole packet of doughnuts.”

Ian blocked the door with the bunch of flowers, his expression pleading. 

“Frankie please, just hear me out. I only need a minute, I promise.” 

Frankie sighed, crossed her arms, waited.

“I know I fucked everything up Frankie, I really do. I just think you and me need a new start, something to look forward to together. I love you so much, I can’t bear us being apart. I don’t want us to ever be apart again Franks.” With this, he pressed the roses into Frankie’s arms and clumsily lowered himself onto one knee on the thin stone steps.

 

“Frankie Maddox; love of my life. Will you –“

“Nope! No, no, no, no, no – you’re not in your right mind and even if you were, no.” Frankie stepped around Ian’s crumpled and defeated form and let herself into the house, closing the door quickly incase Ian decided to follow her in, then leaning against it to complain loudly at the sky. 

“This is so not what I needed today Mrs Wicker!”. 

She kicked off her shoes and got out her work diary, shuffling through the pages until she found tomorrow’s date.

“Please God let this be over by tomorrow. Fuck – Zoe Evans first thing, I absolutely don’t need her bringing flowers and clinging to my ankles when I’m trying to convince her to up Layla Hodgekins’ dosages. Mrs Wicker, if you weren’t already dead, I could kill you right now!”

Tirade over, Frankie tucked the diary back into her bag and put a plate of leftovers in the microwave. By the time the electronic beeps sounded in the kitchen, she was already asleep, crashed out on the sofa.


End file.
